


My Main Character, My Inspiration

by SmallInfinities



Category: Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Captain America, MCU, Marvel
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder-PTSD, Steve is very much in love with Bucky, Stupid friends, Writer's blocks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:13:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallInfinities/pseuds/SmallInfinities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is an artistic author in search of inspiration, falling in love with a crash and a curse. <br/>Nat is a tough woman who knows no mercy, but takes care of her boys like a mother hen. <br/>Clint is the bandaged, goofy guy offering low cost therapy sessions to fund his medical supplies. <br/>Sam works for the embassy, fighting for casual Fridays and the termination of tuna sandwiches. <br/>Tony is the husband of Steve's publisher, a crazy genius with a thing for bagels and metallic objects. <br/>Thor is the big teddy bear of the group, who hasn't quite yet understood the importance of a cellphone. <br/>Bruce is a man everyone likes to confide to, and his comfort tea would make the British royalty cry into their cups. <br/>And Bucky, Bucky is the target of Steve's burning love, the man with the shaded past and a fear of thunder, that everyone needs to protect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! ^^ This is my very, very first fanfic ever. I don't know about the summary, doesn't say it all I think, but oh well! I can't come up with anything better right now, might change it in the future!  
> If you find yourself reading my story I truly hope you'll love it, and that you'll tell me if you do! :) Thank you and enjoy!

"Is that the soundtrack from Brave?" Natasha's voice sounds suspicious over the line, and Steve can just hear Clint cackling somewhere in the background. 

"It's a brilliant movie!" He defends himself, putting the phone on speaker and placing it on the table next to his computer, where a half-written page is waiting for his attention. He leans back on his chair and stretches, yawning so thoroughly something snaps in his jaw. He raises a hand to rub it just as Natasha sighs. 

"Come on, Steve, you big Disney-nerd. This is getting out of hand." Her voice is amused. "I cannot work with you anymore, not if you're planning on listening to this like you listened to the Rise of the Guardians soundtrack. I still have it in my head, and Clint likes to whistle it whenever he thinks he's getting less attention than he rightfully deserves." 

"As your future husband," Clint's voice adds, loud enough for Steve to hear. 

"Oh Nat, don't be a party pooper," Steve says, sighing gravely but turning the music down. "Besides, anything, and I repeat, anything is better than you and your Lady Gaga. And no Clint, do not argue with me." Steve adds quickly before Clint can interrupt, which he usually does whenever Steve slams his favorite artist. Now Steve hears a disappointed whine and Natasha giggles. 

"Clint says that your face isn't so pretty anymore after such foul words." 

Steve gasps theatrically, pressing a hand above his heart, knowing Nat and Clint can't see his gesture but that they can guess he is doing it. 

"My word!" He exclaims, and Natasha snorts at the other end. Steve grabs the phone as he stands up and makes his way to the kitchen, where his coffee machine stands on the counter as the most used piece of machinery in the whole apartment. It's old and makes a horrible sound whenever it's on--which is quite often--but it has saved Steve's life in several occasions involving writer's blocks and long nights, and it still works. Natasha always attempts to make him buy a new one ("It's a dangerous piece of crap Stevie, it smokes and smells like a dumpster") but Steve always pretends that he doesn't hear. He opens the cupboard in search of some filter bags while listening to Nat explain something to Clint, her voice muffled, and then she's back with a heavy sigh. 

"Clint is an ass." She says strongly, but her voice is fond, like it always is when she's talking about her boyfriend. Steve is always a little jealous of their relationship--they are so relaxed around each other, goofing around and simply enjoying being together. It's something Steve would like to have, but he keeps telling himself he doesn't have time, the deadline of his first draft already in the horizon, half a page in his computer. 

"What'd he do now?" He asks, filling the coffee machine with water--it's going to be a long night. 

"Nothing, I was simply stating the facts," there's a grin in Natasha's voice as Steve snaps the machine on, a low, vibrating whine indicating that there is soon to be coffee. He knows Nat can hear it over the line, and soon enough he gets the comment he knew to wait.

"Jesus, Steve, you still haven't gotten rid of that junk?" Nat asks, exasperated. "I swear to God I'll kill you if you die in an explosion because you were too in love with your relic of a coffee maker." 

"I'm counting on that," Steve says with a yawn, returning back to his seat in front of the computer. "I'm stuck." He snuggles his head into his arms and closes his eyes, the bright screen stinging and making him teary. He hates writer's blocks, they always seem to last forever, or at least long enough for him to read the text he already has over and over again, until he hates it and has to start from the beginning, and it's an endless circle that doesn't let him out. 

"Tell me." Nat says seriously from the phone, and Steve can imagine her putting down whatever book she is reading to focus on him entirely. It's one of the best sides of her, how she knows exactly when Steve really needs help, or someone to unload his stress to. 

"Well," he starts, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, "I mean, my deadline is in two months. I'm supposed to have three chapters to show to Pepper and I have half a page. Half a page I've been writing for three weeks now." He sighs. "Honest to God, I'm going to screw this opportunity and return to work in the blasted library." 

"You're not." Nat's voice is stern, and Steve knows what kind of a look he'd get if she would be in his apartment right now. "Your idea is brilliant. It's amazing and well thought of and Pepper would've never given you this chance if she didn't see it too. Quit being so hard on yourself, Rogers. It's just a draft." 

"And if it fails to impress her, she will send me home empty-handed." Steve says with a crooked grin. 

"Yeah, well, look at the bright side," Nat says. "You'll get a reason to exit your apartment every once in a while. Maybe even see people apart from talking to them over the phone. Clint has threatened to come and drag you out soon." She giggles. Then her voice changes and she speaks almost cautiously. "Maybe you could even meet someone." 

"What, are you saying I couldn't meet someone if I got my book published?" Steve asks, realising too late that it's a trap. 

"Well are you going to?" Nat asks seriously. 

"Going to what?" Steve tries to make himself sound defeated to avoid the subject, but Nat ignores it. 

"Go out and meet someone despite the outcome of that draft? What I'm trying to point out here is that Steve Rogers, you. are. damn. hot. You'll get whoever you want, I bet even Clint would fall to your feet if you wanted to--don't though, he's mine." She says warningly, and Steve laughs. 

"You always keep telling me that, Nat, and I love you for it. But you know my problem. I'm shy. Seriously. If I see a guy I like, my first thought is... You're not going to record this then, but my first thought is to pin him against the nearest wall and ravage him, and you know what I DO? I blush and fall over my feet and then that's it. Always." He sighs. 

"Woah, Steve, didn't know you were such a bad boy." Nat laughs happily. "And honey, let me tell you your shyness and all that blushing makes you super cute. With your looks you could be a horrible asshole and an arrogant bastard and still get whomever you wanted, but you're not like that. And I love YOU for THAT." She says fondly. "Promise me you'll get out there and find a nice guy and share that horrible coffee machine with him and present him to us and get married and get a dog. Whatever the outcome with your book. Maybe you just need to get your own life in order before the book. Like an inspiration." 

Steve knows she's right. He knows he's tired of being alone, and that she knows it as well, but it's hard to admit. It hurts. And it sucks. He sighs, smiling sadly at Nat's picture on the screen of his phone, always there when he's talking with her. In the picture she's eating a burger, looking a lot like a hamster and laughing around a mouthful--she'd kill him if she knew he had it. 

"I promise. One day I will," he says. 

"Perfect. I gotta go now, I'm thinking peanut butter bread and a movie." Steve can hear Clint's accepting yelp. "Clint agrees. Are you okay there now?" Nat focuses on him again, and Steve laughs. 

"I'm fine. Seriously. Just tired. I'm thinking I might dump the coffee I just made and go to bed instead. I'm not going to have an inspiration tonight and I'm seeing stars. You two enjoy your evening, and remember the dinner tomorrow okay? Sam's coming, and I'm guessing Thor though he still needs to return the call." Steve flips through the open windows on his screen, closing each of them until only the page of his book is visible. He stares at it for a while, before clicking it close too and shutting down the computer. 

"We wouldn't miss it." Nat says. "Good night, Stevie, love you, you oaf." She makes an exaggerated kiss noise over the phone, and Steve cackles. 

"Ew, now I have lipstick all over my face," he says. "Good night. And don't watch Titanic, Clint always cries." 

"Hey!" Clint's voice booms from the phone, followed by a second "Good night" from Nat, and then she ends the call. Steve puts the phone away, closing the laptop and turning off the light, shuffling into the kitchen where the coffee is ready and waiting. 

Steve almost feels guilty as he turns the machine off, taking the pan and pouring the coffee into the sink. He rinses it with clear water a few times before placing it upside down to dry. Then he grabs a glass and fills it with water, padding into the bedroom and thinking seriously of skipping bathroom, just diving into bed and falling asleep. But he knows all the coffee he drank during the day would come back and haunt him in the morning if he didn't brush his teeth, so he shuffles into the bathroom and turns the water on, tiredly staring at his own reflection in the mirror. 

He didn't agree with Nat about being hot. He didn't deny that maybe some people saw him as a good-looking person, because he knew he wasn't ugly, and he was carefully avoiding being one of those people who wallow in self-pity about their looks. But maybe he missed something others saw in him. When he looked at himself, he saw a slightly crooked nose, and a weird hairline he fixed by growing his hair so that it pointed into every possible direction, especially in the mornings. He was tall and what Nat called 'superhero kind of muscular', a result of Steve's love for sports and jogging. He guessed to some people it was attractive, but he saw it more as being healthy. Which he wasn't, not really. He was often sick, especially during summer, and the amount of coffee he had consumed during his life...far from healthy. Whenever he pointed these facts to Nat, though, she scoffed and, if she was with him, slapped his bicep as hard as she could. Which, surprisingly, was terribly hard. 

Steve rolls his eyes and focuses on brushing his teeth. Tomorrow he's going to sit himself in front of the computer and not move an inch until he's gotten somewhere with his first chapter. He hopes he's going to get a sudden inspiration during the night, or dream the whole length of his book. Which never happens, but a guy can hope, right? 

He snaps the lights off and makes his way to the bed in darkness, falling on top of the sheets and blankets with a grunt. 

In two minutes he's fast asleep, one hand hanging over the edge of the bed. 

*****

"Rise and shine, gorgeous!" Tony's voice through the mailbox jolts Steve awake, and for a while he can't see clearly, the golden rays of sunshine blinding him. He turns his head with a tired yawn, just as Tony continues attempting to wake him up. 

"Hear me? I've been crouching here like a pervert peaking through your mailbox for quite some time now, mind getting your tight lil' ass up from the bed and open the door for me?" Tony asks loudly. "Or, for future, a key would be nice--morning Ms. Carter, I assure you this is not what it looks like. Steve!" 

"I'm up!" Steve responds, dragging himself up and stumbling over a pillow he has kicked out from the bed somewhere during the night. He finds his way to the door in a tired haze, opening the lock and pulling the door open, revealing a crouching Tony Stark behind it. He looks fresh but ruffled, like he always does, dressed in a tidy suit with his brown hair looking like he's just jumped out of bed. He grins, holding up a brown paper bag. 

"A bagel and a real coffee for you, Captain Righteous." He says, shoving them against Steve's chest and striding in to the apartment like he owns the place. Which he probably thinks he does. 

"Wow. When's the last time you went out?" He asks, giving the place a quick once over. Steve's apartment isn't big, just a living room, a bedroom, one bathroom and a kitchen, the whole place stacked full of books and sketch pads and music, a pair of enormous stereos taking one of the living room corners. The place could be a nightmare for a claustrophobic person if it wasn't for the enormous windows and the cozy balcony, bringing much needed light into the apartment. Steve was quite in love with the place, granted it was in a desperate need of a vacuum cleaner at the moment. 

"I don't know," he answers slowly. "Does a ten minute trip to the supermarket two days ago count?" 

"No." Tony grins, wandering into the kitchen with Steve at his tail, still squeezing the brown paper bag. "I take it you've been writing a lot then--" he snaps his mouth shut at the look on Steve's face. "Or not. Talk to me." He sits down at the table, gesturing for Steve to join him, which he does, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

"I'm not making progress." Steve admits, not looking into Tony's eyes. His relationship with the man has been cautious at its best, and Steve never feels entirely comfortable around Tony Stark. Tony is a buzz of energy, his wit is quick and he always has something smart ready to be said, and he always gets the last word. He's a straight forward kind of a guy, who likes to think himself above everyone else, and, even if Steve hates to admit it, he's a genius. A crazy genius. And Steve owes him his whole writing career, if he ever gets it. It was Tony who first got his hands on Steve's story, secretly reading it from Steve's journal. He had loved it, and showed it to his wife, Pepper, who just happened to be a well-known publisher, and she had called Steve to inform him about his chance of getting the story out, if he was interested. He had gotten three months to write three chapters, three chapters where the idea of his story should come out enough to seem interesting. 

"I have half a page." Steve huffs. 

Tony arches an eyebrow, scratching his carefully trimmed beard. His brown eyes are sharp as he searches Steve's face, finally sighing and snatching the paper bag away from him. 

"Here's what you are going to do," he says, taking out the bagel and the coffee and sliding them across the table to Steve. "You are going to take a day off. You are going to get out there, go to a club and have fun. You are going to spend money ruthlessly and not think about that blasted book--hey, I'm not saying I don't love your story. It's beautiful. What I'm saying is that you need to take care of yourself too." Tony's voice softens at the end, and Steve dares a glance up. Tony's still looking at him, a small smile on his face. 

"Hey, I'm not worried or anything, just that Pepper's gonna kill me if her new star author wears himself off writing drafts. Also, this is the only thing you have such a close deadline for. When you get this through, you'll have a lot of time to write." He stands up, and pats Steve's shoulder. 

"Drink, eat, dress up--" he leans in to sniff the air around Steve and laughs. "Actually, take a shower, dress up and go out. Don't touch that computer. Promise?" He winks and Steve has to laugh, patting him away as he sips the coffee. It's heavenly. 

"Promise. Why'd you come here anyway? Just to tell me to get out?" 

"Actually yes." Tony shrugs. "Nat called me and said you have a crisis, so I, as the superhero I am, came to the rescue." He grins crookedly. "You're going to be alright then?" 

"Yeah. Yeah I'll be okay." Steve smiles and stands up to walk Tony to the door. It's weird, Tony doesn't seem to belong into the small apartment, not in his suit and tidy beard and expensive shoes. But then Steve knows that the place Tony lives in is a modern mansion decorated with glass and white leather and stainless steel, because that's where Steve first met Pepper. So it's no wonder Tony looks so out of place, especially next to Steve, who's only wearing sweatpants with a hole in the other knee. 

"Oh and hey, call Nat and tell her what a saviour I am," Tony says quickly. "She needs to give me more credit." He glances at the watch around his wrist and grimaces. "Damn it. Banner's going to kill me if I'm late again." He smiles up at Steve, pointing at the coffee warningly. 

"You drink that too then, and eat the bagel. I'm serious." 

"I will." Steve says with a nod, and Tony turns around, rushing to the stairs. 

"And call Nat!" His voice is faint, echoing from the walls. Steve shakes his head with a smile, leaning back to close the door just as the door at the opposite end of the hallway opens, and someone comes out. 

It's a man, clad in a pair of very tight black jeans and a black sweater, his left hand covered by a glove and pushed awkwardly into the sweater pocket--it looks stiff and doesn't move at all. His hair, dark brown, reaches his shoulders, framing his face, and Steve sees a pair of enormous, steel blue eyes and a jaw covered by a scruff. The man's combat boots scrunch against the floor as he stops to wait for something, his eyes meeting Steve's across the space. He looks surprised, and Steve's breath catches a little--the man is very beautiful. Can you say that of a man? Now you can, Steve decides, raising the coffee mug as a hello just as someone else comes out of the apartment. An older lady with a notebook under her arm backs out from the door and locks it, turning to the mysterious man in black. 

Steve would love to know what was going on, weird enough since he almost never pokes his nose into anyone else's business, but he doesn't want to seem like an idiot, so he closes the door, his eyes never leaving the man now focusing on the lady. The last thing he sees is them shaking hands, and then the door slams shut. 

Steve finishes the coffee and grabs the bagel from the table, slumping down onto the couch and carefully avoiding the desk where his computer is waiting. He knows he shouldn't do as Tony said. He knows he should write, since Pepper gave him an opportunity of a lifetime, something he had wanted from the moment he learned to write. 

But instead of thinking about the main character of his story, Steve's thoughts just seem to return to the stranger coming out of the apartment opposite to his. Was he going to move in? As far as Steve remembers, the apartment has been empty for almost half a year, being renovated after the previous owner had basically destroyed it in a party that had taken his life. Steve still remembers the medics running and shouting in the hallway, and it makes him shudder. 

He reaches to his phone, still charging, and unplugs it, choosing Nat's number. Maybe they could meet a little earlier, before the dinner, if he wasn't going to write today. He sure as hell wasn't going to go clubbing before twelve in the afternoon, and he didn't feel like spending money, as Tony had suggested. He didn't have much money anyway, not after quitting his job and basically living in the hopes of getting his book out.

Clint answers after the third ring. 

"Hello, beautiful man." He says from the other end. "Nat isn't available right now, but my therapy sessions cost you a lot less." 

"Morning Clint," Steve grins. "And seriously? I think after your therapy I'd need even more therapy, some meds and maybe a soft room." 

"Not fair," Clint exclaims with mock hurt. "What's in your mind?" He asks, and Steve can hear him sitting down.

"Stark was here. Told me to have a day off. And I was wondering if we could meet a bit earlier, it's not like I have a life outside of the book and you guys." Steve sighs, letting his head fall against the cushions. 

"Really? He told you that?" Clint snorts. "Wait, I'll--NAT! You've been there for an hour now, I'm soon gonna pee out of the window! I mean it! Also Steve wants to meet earlier." Steve can hear muffled yelling as Natasha answers, apparently from the bathroom. Clint hums and laughs. 

"She says we can't, we have to pick up the new car. But she says you have to use the time going out and at least try to meet someone." Clint sounds a little too amused to Steve's liking. 

"No can do, Barton." He sighs, his thoughts once again returning to the man with dark hair. "I kind of saw someone--"he doesn't get to finish before a loud gasp interrupts him from the other end.

"He saw someone!! Nat this guy is fast! He's met someone!" Clint shouts and Nat screams back, excited, and Steve slaps a hand over his eyes. 

"No, Clint--"

"Just remember to use protection, even if there's no danger of babies--" 

"CLINT." Steve gasps. "Christ, Clint, I said I saw someone. SAW. We didn't talk... But I think he's moving to 4C." 

"Wow. Just wow man." Clint laughs. "Oh thank God Nat! Talk to Steve before I pee my pants. Bye Cap, see you tonight!" 

"Bye--"

"STEVE." Nat nearly shouts into the phone. "Steve, tell me everything." 

"There really isn't much to tell, and I'm kind of embarrassed to talk about some poor guy like this." Steve sighs, but knows Nat is not going to give up before she has all the details. Apparently it is very rare for Steve to show interest in other people. 

"He, I think he's moving into 4C. He was in the hallway with a real estate woman. He was wearing all black clothes and combat boots, his left arm was probably somehow injured... He had long hair. Dark. And the most beautiful--Nat I sound horrible." 

"Naahhhh!" Nat says loudly. "Okay. He sounds mysterious! Sexy! How was his voice?" 

"I didn't hear it." Steve says shortly, and Nat whines, but is apparently too happy to be put down by minor details.

"Fine. Did you want to pin him against a wall and ravage him?" She asks, her husky voice making the words sound even dirtier than when Steve said them the previous night, and he groans. 

"God, I said don't record it! No! Yes! I mean I only saw him for like five seconds. Nat this is wrong, I sound like a pervert." Steve complains, finishing the bagel and raising his legs onto the cushions. "I sound so dirty."

"What's wrong with that?" Nat asks with a laugh. "Is he still there?" 

"Don't think so. They were leaving when I saw him." 

"Damn. Well, Steve, when he moves in you rush to help him move the boxes. You said he was injured, so he's probably going to need help anyway." Nat sounds serious, and Steve swallows. 

"Do I have to? I have no idea what kind of a person he is, and he saw me staring at him half naked from my doorway, my filthy apartment behind me. If I appear to help him it'll seem like I've been stalking through the eyehole!" 

"Yes you have to! And were you really half naked?" Nat giggles manically. "In that case I'm sure he'll be happy to see you again." 

"God." Steve breathes out, squeezing his eyes shut. "Why are we even talking about this?" 

"I'm pretty sure you started--you ready?" Natasha's voice is more distant, as she's probably addressing Clint. "No, the keys are there. No, under it. Yeah, there. Okay--Steve we have to go." She says to the phone. "We'll be as fast as we can and we'll come to your place straight away. Okay? Clean it up a bit. Oh and go to the store yeah? I forgot the wine." 

"Of course." Steve smiles, ending the call and letting the phone hit his chest as he drops it. He drags a hand across his face and groans, forcing himself up and towards the shower. He realises he's made the biggest mistake of his life, telling Nat and Clint about the poor stranger. 

"It's never going to become anything anyway," he mumbles to himself, but can't stop himself from peaking through the eyehole into the empty hallway, immediately cursing and backing away. 

"Christ," he huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm pathetic." 

He kicks the sweatpants and his underwear away and steps into the shower, turning the water to the coldest he can bear. He shoves his head directly under the shower, letting the noise drown out all his thoughts. And if one thought remains, one picture of a pair of big, expressive, steel blue eyes, well, no one has to know.


	2. It doesn't matter if you've known him for 15 minutes--if he's scared of thunder you protect him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky! So, Steve gets to do what Nat adviced him to... And a bit more in the end. ^^

It had taken Steve only fifteen minutes to get out of shower and into clean clothes, which was a new record and something Nat would've been proud of. His hair is still dripping water, but he pulls on a baseball cap and even the hood of his navy blue shirt, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he exits the apartment and rushes down the stairs. He collects the mail on his way out, knowing he'd only go pick up the wine--he'd have to return and perform a very thorough cleansing in his apartment, before Nat and Clint would show up. Also he'd probably have to hide his precious coffee machine, or it'd be through the window as soon as Steve would go to the bathroom. 

He whistles Ariel's song from the Little Mermaid, off tune and silently as he pushes open the main doors of the building, and immediately crashes into someone smaller, nearly sending him flying to the street, but Steve's reflexes are fast and he grabs the person by the arm before it can happen. 

Almost immediately he notices who it is, and for a while he forgets how to breathe, his hand still gripping the stranger's arm as a pair of steel blue eyes look up at him, alarmed. Steve stares back, blood rushing to his face, until the guy coughs awkwardly and Steve understands to let go, quickly looking down to hide his red face. 

"Sorry," the stranger says, and his voice is pure sex. Okay it's not, but Steve's mind is so fragile at the moment he thinks it is. It's soft and velvety, a little rough as if the guy isn't used to talking much. And it's perfect and Steve is doomed. 

"No no," he hurries to say, half of his energy going into remembering how to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. "It was my fault, I wasn't really paying attention to my surroundings." Wow. He's doing good. He doesn't sound at all weird, his voice steady and calm. He still refuses to look up though, staring somewhere to the left of the other man's face. He probably looks like an imbecil. 

"Hey," the guy says slowly. "I know... I remember you. I saw you earlier, didn't I?" 

Steve is so shocked his eyes flip to the guy's face, but the other looks perfectly relaxed, smiling expectantly, and damn if it isn't a good look on him. Steve has to swallow before he can say anything, and for a while he wonders what's happening to him. He's never been this ridiculous before. 

"Uhm, yeah. I live in 2C. Across the hall from 4C. You moving in?" He asks, managing a smile, regretting it the instant the guy's smile widens. 

"Yeah, I am. Today actually, just came to see how the place looks now that it's done. Mrs. Layhey, the real estate lady, was very persistent I did that. It looks pretty nice now. I'm just coming in, my stuff's arriving soon after." The guy lets out a small laugh, casting his eyes down, and Steve understands he's still blocking the doorway. He mentally slaps himself. Smooth, Rogers.

"Oh, sorry," he mumbles, moving aside. "Nice to have someone in that apartment again, I have to admit. Ms. Carter lives in 3C but she doesn't seem to like me much." Steve grins and the guy laughs, moving to the door, so that he's directly in front of Steve now.

"I'm Bucky. Barnes. Nice to meet you," he says, offering his hand. Steve notices the left hand is still stuffed into the sweater pocket, and Bucky doesn't use it at all. He kind of wants to know about it, but it's not his place to ask. Instead he grabs the offered hand and flashes his widest smile. 

"Steve Rogers. Really nice to meet you now that I'm properly clothed too." Christ. Why did he say that? 

Bucky laughs, pulling the door open. "I didn't mind." He shrugs, already half way in when Steve remembers what Nat told him to do. He sends a small prayer upstairs before opening his mouth again. 

"Hey, I'm just going to the store to grab something, but then I'm going to be back. So if you need any help with the boxes I'm free. I mean when I moved in I had to get all the boxes myself and I can tell you it's a pain in the ass." He offers, preparing himself for a friendly rejection. 

But Bucky's face brightens as he peaks over his shoulder. He nods. 

"Thanks a lot, I was kind of prepared to fight with the boxes for the rest of the day." He grins. "You'll know where to find me." 

"Yeah." Steve huffs out, and then Bucky's inside and the door swings shut after him. 

Steve has to take a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart, and to appear normal to the other pedestrians. Still, he can't help but feel nearly giddy, and it's a fight not to grab his phone and dial Nat's number right then and there. For some part he feels stupid--Bucky is a stranger. He could be any kind of a person, but to say Steve wasn't already head over heels in the situation would be a lie. He crosses his fingers and hopes with all his heart his actions are not going to cost him. 

In the store he walks around in a haze, not paying attention to what he's buying, nearly vibrating in frustration as the line doesn't seem to move at all, people buying enough stuff to last weeks, at least in Steve's opinion. He gets a funny look from the cashier when he pays for the wine, but he ignores it, nearly running out as soon as he's done. Even if the apartment is only few blocks away from the store, the walk feels like it lasts an eternity, and Steve walks as fast as he can without running. He's squeezing the wine in his hand, staring straight ahead but being painfully aware of the stares following him as he passes. Is it so weird to walk around with a bottle of wine? 

The truck with Bucky's belongings is already parked in front of the building, and the boxes are being dumped on the street. The men are carrying a leather couch through the doors, Bucky standing on the side and looking mighty pissed. His face brightens a little though at Steve's arrival, and he waves a hand. 

"Hi," Bucky huffs as soon as Steve reaches him. Then he spots what Steve is carrying and arches an eyebrow, his annoyance turning to amusement. 

"Picked something up from the store I see. Need to get drunk tonight, or is it just for decoration?" He grins, and Steve glances down at the bottle in his hand. It's not wine, it's vodka, an enormous bottle of clear vodka, probably furthest from the wine he was supposed to get. He stares at the bottle in shock, and Bucky's face falls. 

"I'm sorry," he says quickly. "That was a super rude question. I'm such an idiot sometimes." He smiles apologetically, and Steve waves a hand. 

"No, don't worry. I just.. Wasn't exactly supposed to take this one. Nat won't complain though." He shrugs. Nor Clint. 

Bucky's face is a mixture of curiosity and something else Steve can't pinpoint, and then he asks, casually; "A girlfriend?" 

"Nah," Steve smiles. "My best friend. She's coming to dinner tonight with her fiancée and a few more friends... And I was supposed to get the wine. But I screwed that up." Steve feels happy when Bucky laughs, hoping he won't ask what distracted him so much he made such a mistake, but the laugh turns into a grimace as the two men come out of the building again, having gotten the couch into 4C. 

"Okay, I think that's all," the other one says slowly, stopping at the doorway and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. "I mean basically that isn't what we do, but since you are an invalid we--"

"I'm not," Bucky nearly growls, the sound making the hairs at the back of Steve's neck stand up, "An invalid. And thanks for mentioning that too. Goodbye." He stares at the man murderously, and the man backs away, turning around and sending an insult Bucky's way, one that makes Steve kind of want to go after him and punch him, but Bucky's smiling again, so he doesn't. 

"Yeah," Bucky finally moves the left hand, still covered by a glove though now hanging at his side, and raises it a little. "It's a prosthesis. I can move it and use it pretty much, it functions, but it's still rather clumsy and not fit for carrying around heavy leather couches." He shrugs. "Have to go with what you've got. But I'm not an invalid." He frowns, but looks more sad than angry, and Steve kind of wants to give him a hug, but restrains himself.

"Of course not," he says. "Hey, can I stuff this bottle into one of those boxes for now? Easier to carry if I'm not holding it." 

"Sure," Bucky grins, leaning down to grab a box--his left arm seemingly works quite well, the fingers inside the glove curling almost instinctively around the edge of the box and lifting it. He huffs as he straightens, blowing a lost strand of hair from his face. 

"Just take one of the open ones first. I don't really care much about this stuff but it'd be a shame if someone stole all of it." He wedges his boot into the doorway, opening the door with his leg and nodding for Steve to go in first. Steve grabs a box--as heavy as he can find, because hey, if he's there, then Bucky isn't going to carry any of the heavy ones. He strides in, Bucky following close behind, and leads them to the elevator. 

"Fourth floor. Those guys had to carry your couch from the stairs," Steve grins as they step into the elevator, just big enough to fit each of them with their boxes, and Steve switches his box under one arm to push the button. Somehow they end up with Bucky squeezed against his chest, and he cranes his neck to grin up at Steve, who hopes his heartbeat isn't quite as loud as he thinks it is. 

"So," Bucky says as the elevator begins to climb up, slow as a snail. "Is that suit guy from earlier one of the friends coming to dinner?" 

"No," Steve smiles, distracted. "No, he's my boss' husband. Or well, she's not my boss, but she's the publisher who kind of gave a chance to my story. Which I'm failing to write at the moment." He sighs. 

"You're an author?" Bucky asks, shifting a little, and Steve swallows a whimper. This is bad. 

"Uh, yeah. I mean I will be one if I manage to get my drafts done in two months." He excpects Bucky to say that it's a long time. Everyone who has never tried to write anything even close to a book always seem to think two months is plenty of time to write Lord of the Rings all over again. But Bucky whistles, huffing out a laugh. 

"Wow, that's not much. How many pages do you need to give in?" He asks, as the elevator stops and the doors slide open, much to Steve's relief. 

"There's no certain amount of pages I need to have, but three chapters. And they have to be interesting and show what my story is going to be like. And that's where I'm stuck. I don't know how to start." He follows Bucky into 4C, where the door is already wide open, the couch placed in the middle of the living room. The layout of the apartment is a mirror image of Steve's, though considerably cleaner and a little darker, Bucky's windows getting the evening light whereas Steve gets the morning sun. 

"Well," Bucky says, dumping the box onto the couch. "Don't write the first three chapters." 

"What?" 

"First chapters are always introductions. Characters, places, who likes who and who's an enemy. You can't really make that interesting. You should write three chapters from the middle of the book. Write like your publisher already knows the characters. Write them and make them all colorful, maybe write some big event that shows as many characters as possible, and lets out their different personalities. I don't know. I mean, she didn't say it had to be the beginning of the book?" He turns to look at Steve, his big eyes half closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks as he blinks. 

Steve inhales sharply and drops the box, the edge landing on his toes. With a jolt he jumps backwards and manages to hit his elbow to the wall, cursing softly under his breath and turning bright red. 

"Ow! Christ, ouch, I'm sorry," he babbles, taking a cautious step away from the wall just as Bucky starts laughing. 

"Oh, sorry," he sniffs between laughter. "I'm--are you okay? How's your toe?" He tries to look serious. "Your elbow? How did--"

"I'll live," Steve smiles awkwardly, and Bucky manages to swallow a guffaw. 

"Good. Wow. That was fast! It's usually me stumbling about, good to see I'm not the only one in the universe." He pats Steve's shoulder as he passes him back to the hallway, and Steve turns to follow. 

"Trust me you're not," he says. 

"Yeah. I mean for me, it's because of the prosthesis. It's heavy, and I'm missing a limb, so my balance isn't quite the same anymore." Bucky turns to walk backwards, giving Steve a mischievous grin. "What's your excuse, Rogers?" 

"Don't have one. I'm just clumsy by nature." He smiles as Bucky laughs again. He's tempted to lean in and brush a strand of hair from Bucky's face, but reminds himself they've known each other for about fifteen minutes alltogether now. And not even known, exactly. Just talked. 

"Seriously, this moving company sucks," Bucky groans as they get back to the boxes again, a muffled rumbling above them indicating an upcoming storm. "Is it customary to leave someone's belongings on the street?" He leans back down to grab a box, while Steve quickly grabs one of the heaviest ones again. He wants to be subtle about it, but he also doesn't want Bucky to have to carry the big ones. He smiles as Bucky shoots him a look. 

"It's not, actually," Steve says. "I wonder why they did it--hey, wait, that's SAM!!" Steve raises his voice, catching the attention of the man walking towards them on the street. Sam looks up from his phone and grins, waving a hand. 

"That's one of my friends, Sam," Steve says to Bucky, who looks a little confused and surprised. "He could help too, if you want, I think it's going to rain soon." 

Bucky squints as he looks up at the sky, where dark storm clouds are gathering. Steve isn't sure, but he thinks Bucky pales a little, but it might just be the light. 

"Sure," he says quickly, just as Sam reaches them and moves to slam a hand to Steve's shoulder. 

"How ya doing, man?" He asks happily. "What's happening here?" He looks around and spots Bucky, who's expression has changed into what could only be called nervous. Steve frowns, wondering if it has something to do with Sam. But that would be impossible, so he takes a breath and introduces the two.

"Sam, this is Bucky, he's moving to 4C. And I'm helping him carry the boxes up because--"

"What, did they leave the boxes on the street?!" Sam looks scandalized. "Holy shit that's unprofessional. Mind if I lend a hand?" He asks Bucky, his voice a little softer, as the nervousness on Bucky's face is hard to miss. 

"Not at all," Bucky says with a smile, flinching as the sky rumbles again, this time a little louder. Steve doesn't have to be a mind reader to understand that Bucky is afraid of thunder, his face getting paler as the sunlight slowly fades and the first drops of water land on their faces. 

Sam notices it too, reaching down and grabbing two boxes at once, turning to usher Bucky inside. He gives Steve a look over his shoulder before following Bucky in, and Steve gets it, managing to lift another box as well. Granted he's probably going to lose both his arms. 

"We are not all going to fit in there," Bucky says inside, heading to the stairs. "I'll walk, I only have one--Steve for God's sakes!" He grins. "You have both of the kitchen boxes. I feel sorry for you." 

"I feel sorry for myself too," Steve grunts, his fingers slowly going numb. "Where is that blasted elevator?!" 

"What we need in all buildings," Sam says matter-of-factly, "Is escalators." 

Bucky hums his agreement, shifting the box in his arms and starting to climb. "If I see an older lady holding the elevator I'll give her a friendly kick on the butt," he promises, and Sam snorts, turning to Steve as soon as Bucky disappears, his steps echoing in the empty hall.

"Is that the mysterious guy you want to ravage, man?" He asks silently, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and Steve whimpers. 

"Damn that Nat," he complains as the elevator doors finally slide open. "I'll never talk to her again. And no. I mean yes, no, I am definitely interested but I'm not a perv!" He whispers aggressively as they stuff themselves in, one of the box's edges burying itself into Steve's stomach. He groans and Sam lets out what can only be described as a girly giggle. 

Sam is straight from work it seems, wearing a tidy, light grey suit, his violet tie open and loose around his neck. He has told Steve he hates suits, but as his work at the embassy requires it, he has learned to wear them daily. Though Steve still gets some annoyed messages during the day, telling him how Sam is going to quit soon if he doesn't at least get a casual Friday. 

They step out on the fourth floor, nearly running to the apartment to drop the boxes on the floor. Steve massages his fingers, flexing them and looking around. Bucky's nowhere to be seen. 

"He probably went back to get another box. It's only four left there mate, one more trip." Sam says, trying to sound courageous. Truth is he too can't feel his fingers. 

There are thundering steps on the staircase, and Bucky's back, holding two boxes under his arm. He looks a little startled at the sight of them, but grins as he gets to the door. 

"Two more boxes down there, I'll get them myself," he says, inhaling sharply as a lightning flashes outside, the whole hallway suddenly lighting up in white, for a second, before the darkness falls again. For a moment he doesn't move, as if bracing himself for something. Then he smiles, not looking towards them, and crouches down, raising Steve's vodka bottle from one of the boxes. 

"Here. Don't forget this." He holds it out for Steve, who takes it with an embarrassed grin. Sam raises his eyebrows but says nothing. Instead he walks to the hallway and shouts over his shoulder, just as the thunder rumbles loud enough to make the windows rattle: 

"I'll get the boxes, I'm already on my way you cannot stop me!" And he sits on the railing and slides down, his "Whooooooooo" getting fainter the lower he descends. 

Bucky's eyes are like two plates as he watches Sam go, and then he turns to Steve, looking like he wants an explanation, and Steve can only shrug. 

"It's just the way he is." He says. 

"I like him." Bucky grins, kicking one of the boxes deeper into the house. "That storm rose pretty fast, it was sunny in the morning." He wraps his good arm loosely around his waist, as if to shield himself from the thunder, and Steve wishes he could do it for him. But there's no way, so he settles to the second best option. He doesn't feel right leaving Bucky into the empty apartment with a couch and a bunch of heavy boxes, not when he's going to have vodka dinner with his friends. He coughs to get Bucky's attention. 

"I was wondering... If you don't have anything to do, you could join us for the dinner?" He raises his voice a little at the end to indicate the question. "I mean you know me and Sam already, and it's only going to be Nat and Clint. They are great, you'd like them. Also maybe Thor, he hasn't called but he might just appear." He shrugs, feeling a little stupid. 

"Thor?" Bucky asks, smiling. "Your friend's name is Thor?" 

"Yeah." Steve grins. 

"Cool. And well, thank you for the invitation, but I think I'll have to stay and unpack a little. And my stomach doesn't take vodka very well." He nods his head towards the bottle, grimacing at another lightning. Steve would like to point out that since he clearly is afraid of the storm he should join them, because he has candles in case the electricity dies, and he's fairly sure Bucky doesn't, and also there's going to be a lot of people in a small space, which has to feel safer than sitting alone. But he doesn't say any of it, because it'd be rude and it'd seem like he doesn't see Bucky as a grown man able to handle his own problems. So he just nods, raising the bottle in salute just as Sam stumbles back, soaking wet and cursing loudly. 

"Damn, the bottom of the other box gave out. Good thing it was on top of the other one--all the stuff is now packed together, careful with it." He says as he places the boxes down in front of Bucky. 

"Thanks a lot," Bucky smiles. "I wouldn't have been able to do this so fast without help. I owe you one." He offers his hand to Sam too, and Sam grabs it, shaking it with a wide smile. 

"Nah, happy to help, been through this hell a few times myself. Are you gonna join us for dinner?" 

"No, no, Steve already asked." Bucky tilts his head. "But I have to unpack and get some stuff done, so I can't." 

"Alright, well I wish you luck for that," Sam slaps Steve's shoulder as he exits the apartment, letting Steve say bye to Bucky alone. 

"So, I.." Steve starts. Dammit, don't leave it like this, he thinks. Give him a reason to see you again. Get YOURSELF a reason to see HIM again. "If the electricity dies... Well. Know that I have dozens of candles. If you don't have any, come knock and I'll help you with... with that." Jesus. 

Bucky laughs. "Good to know. I don't think I have any candles here, but I'll be sure to come knocking and demand a few then." 

"Awesome." Steve says and slaps himself in his mind. Who the hell says awesome? "I'll see you around." He backs into the hallway, and Bucky leans in to close the door. 

"See you." He says, and then Steve is alone in the hallway, the door without a name on it yet shut, leaving Bucky into the empty apartment. 

Or, Steve isn't alone, actually. He turns to see Sam holding up his thumbs and groans. 

"Don't you dare go all Nat on me, or I'll lock you into the bathroom." He warns, stuffing the bottle into Sam's hands and trying to find his key. 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam cackles. 

*****

"He almost crashed the car after the first lightning!" Natasha says loudly from the door as soon as Sam has wandered to open it, Steve standing in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the cooking food. The storm is right above them, and it's terribly dark, all Steve's lamps turned on to give some light. It still didn't seem to be enough, though, if a thud and a curse from Clint was anything to go by. 

"Did not!" Clint exclaims, stumbling into the kitchen and straight to Steve. He's soaking wet, a bandage on his nose and plastered onto his forehead, a bruise fading on his jaw. He's always injured when Steve sees him, and with a small embarrassed laugh he remembers when he had first thought it was the result of domestic violence. Nat had soon set him straight on that one. 

"Cap!" Clint wraps his arms around him, making Steve shiver as the water from Clint's clothes seeps through his. "Defend me against the monsters!" 

"Defend yourself, asshat," Nat says as she strides in, giving Steve a quick kiss on the cheek. "Smells heavenly, I'm starving." She spins around, looks around the apartment and frowns. "I thought I asked you to tidy up a bit." 

"He couldn't," Sam says knowingly from the doorway. "He was helping Mr. Mysterious, later revealed to be named Bucky Barnes, to move in his boxes." He grins at the horror on Steve's face, and it takes Nat half a second to slam her hand onto Steve's shoulder as a gesture of pride. 

"Tell me!" She demands, slapping Clint's hand away where it's trying to steal one of the carrots from the counter. Clint mumbles something about starvation and bunnies but Steve doesn't have time to concentrate on him--Nat is staring at him from the other side. 

"I just did what you told me to." He shrugs. "I was going out to get the wine, and ran into him at the front doors. He had been here giving the place the last check with the real estate woman, and then he chatted with her outside for a while I guess. He was coming back in and we kind of crashed." He ducks his head a little to hide a wide grin. "He remembered me from earlier and introduced himself and I said that I could help him with the boxes if he wanted me to. He said yeah and when I came back I helped him carry them up. Sam appeared midway to help too." Steve points a fork at Sam. "He has an arm prosthesis." He adds, off note. 

"Poor guy," Nat says softly. "And you didn't invite him to dinner?" She looks disappointed, but this time Sam saves the situation, stepping fully into the room and squinting as another lightning flashes, the lamps flickering momentarily. 

"We both tried," he says quickly. "The guy looked like a ghost and literally jumped everytime there was a lightning or thunder--but he said no thanks." 

"Yeah." Steve agrees. Nat seems to approve, a mischievous smirk spreading onto her face. 

"So," she starts. "How was he? His voice, height, how did he smell, were his teeth clean, you know." She sends a kiss at Clint when he snorts from the table. 

"His teeth were perfect." Steve says without thinking. "He smelled perfect. His voice is perfect, you know, a little rough on edge like he isn't used to talking a lot. And he was the perfect height--what." He blushes furiously as everyone else in the room giggles. 

"Nothing bad man," Sam says, his smile so wide it nearly splits his face. "You just happened to describe everything about him as perfect. Wonder if he knows he's got such a fan across the hall from him." His smile disappears as thunder suddenly explodes right above them, so loud Steve wants to press his palms to his ears. The windows rattle, and the lights die off with a bang. For a while the space is filled with white noise, everyone's ears ringing as they are left standing in the darkness. 

"Everyone okay?" Sam asks, sending Steve a meaningful glare over the room--he doesn't only mean the four of them with the question. Steve nods immediately, heading towards the door. 

"There goes the food," Clint observes behind him as he opens the front door and steps into the pitch black hallway. He isn't exactly thinking--he doesn't have a reason to go to Bucky's door, he even forgot the candles. Also he has no idea whether Bucky wants to see him again or not. But the place is dead silent, and he knocks, his heart racing in his chest. 

It takes an eternity before anything happens. Steve is already preparing to kick the door in when the lock finally rattles and the handle is pushed down, the door opening just enough for Bucky to fit into the small crack. 

He looks horrible. His face is pale as a sheet, and he's clearly shivering despite the fact it's pretty damn hot inside the apartments. The hall behind him is just as pitch black as the corridor behind Steve, but what really strikes him are Bucky's eyes. They are wide, his pupils dilated so that there's almost no blue around them, and they look haunted, almost terrified. 

Bucky stares at Steve for a full minute before he blinks, for the first time, and takes a shuddering breath. 

"Thank God," he says faintly. "Did you... come bring me candles?" He grins tiredly, and Steve feels a pang in his chest. He probably should've dragged Bucky into his apartment in the first place, not giving in to the excuses about unpacking and taking care of some stuff. 

"No," he says strongly, and he feels like he's being terribly loud after Bucky's near whisper. "No, I came to fetch you for dinner." 

Bucky's eyes widen, and he takes a small step back. 

"I said I can't-" he starts, but Steve shakes his head. 

"You can, and you will. Nat's orders. When you meet her you'll know why I don't have a choice here." He smiles soothingly, and for a while Bucky looks like he's going to slam the door at Steve's face. But then he smiles too, stepping out--this time he's bare feet, and only has a t-shirt on, though Steve can't see more than an odd glint of something on his left arm in the darkness. Bucky pats his pocket to check he has keys, and shuts the door, gesturing for Steve to start walking. 

"You are a weird neighbor." He says softly, padding a little after Steve, and Steve feels like he's being followed by a shadow, Bucky's stare making his skin prickle. 

"So I've been told. Is it a bad thing?" He asks, turning his head a little as they reach his door, open and with candle light shining into the hallway. He can just see Bucky smiling at him in the dark. 

"Definitely not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you'll like it! The multiple chapter thing should be fixed now :D


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